


Amateur Production: Kevin's Take

by Strings (fangirlgeekout)



Series: Amateur Production [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Fetish, Kevin is an observer not a participant, Multi, Not really a college AU but almost? for Kevin kinda, Professor Castiel, Tickling, and anxiety and general flusteredness, there's maybe some second-hand embarrassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 00:46:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4120342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirlgeekout/pseuds/Strings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is all Rynn's fault. She said:</p><p>"Cas is a part-time professor, right? What if one of his students happens to have a tickling fetish and has seen the videos and is absolutely scared stupid when he realizes that the beautiful and adorable blue-eyed Cas from his fantasies is also his teacher?! So he basically spends the entire semester staring at Cas' hands and blushing and GODFORBID Sam or Dean come to bring Cas coffee or something. Like the sheer panic on his face might make Cas a little suspicious. The trio never really thought out what would happen if their muggle lives met with their internet lives, but Cas really believes the boy is harmless and starts to get a kick out of how easily flustered he is."</p><p>Originally posted Jan 2015 on <a href="http://wordstrings.tumblr.com/post/108301145985/i-was-going-to-hold-onto-this-until-i-had-another">Tumblr</a>.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is all Rynn's fault. She said:
> 
> "Cas is a part-time professor, right? What if one of his students happens to have a tickling fetish and has seen the videos and is absolutely scared stupid when he realizes that the beautiful and adorable blue-eyed Cas from his fantasies is also his teacher?! So he basically spends the entire semester staring at Cas' hands and blushing and GODFORBID Sam or Dean come to bring Cas coffee or something. Like the sheer panic on his face might make Cas a little suspicious. The trio never really thought out what would happen if their muggle lives met with their internet lives, but Cas really believes the boy is harmless and starts to get a kick out of how easily flustered he is."
> 
> Originally posted Jan 2015 on [Tumblr](http://wordstrings.tumblr.com/post/108301145985/i-was-going-to-hold-onto-this-until-i-had-another).

It feels cliché and a little pretentious to walk into the first class of the semester with a huge disposable cup of coffee, but Kevin resolutely decides not to care. He hasn’t been able to stock up on quick breakfast foods at his apartment yet, so liquid caffeine will have to suffice until he gets to the grocery store. He’ll probably have time this evening, so long as none of his professors assign loads of reading to kick off the semester.

He plops into a relatively safe seat, about a third of the way into the fourth row of the small lecture hall, and arranges his messenger bag at his feet so he can pull out whatever supplies he might need with minimal noise. He checks his phone while the other students trickle in. One of his housemates must have texted him while he was walking to class (“ _what time are you done today? we should go shopping_ ”), and he dismisses a few stray Facebook notifications.

Kevin glances up just as the professor crosses the distance from the door to the desk that’s centered under the end-to-end whiteboards and elevated projection screen on the front wall. He has a big travel mug of coffee as well, so Kevin feels less self-conscious about the 24-ouncer sitting in front of him. The prof drops his own bag at one corner of the desk and skips the momentary comfort of the chair, instead coming around to lean his rear against the desk’s front edge and cross his ankles. He sips his coffee and watches the students settle.

Something about him tugs at a sense of familiarity in Kevin’s mind. It’s not surprising, since he’s seen plenty of profs around campus without knowing who exactly they are. The “C. Novak” name had been unfamiliar when Kevin registered for his classes, but the guy had decent reviews on RateMyProfessor. (“ _A little spacey sometimes, but really knows what he’s talking about._ ” “ _Gets weirdly enthusiastic about some things. Really smart. Grades fair. Loses stuff._ ” “ _Don’t ask him about the role of bees in the rise of agriculture, unless you want to lose a whole class to something that isn’t even covered on the midterms._ ” “ _Hottt!_ ”)

Professor Novak’s eyes brush over Kevin as he continues scanning the room. Okay, he’s  _definitely_  familiar. Kevin knows he’s seen him more than once before.

Novak sets his coffee down behind his hip and glances at the clock on one side of the room. Two minutes past nine. He shifts to standing. 

“Alright, this is Anthro 104: Introduction to Cultural Anthropology, and I’m Professor Novak. If you’re in the wrong place, now’s the time.”

His  _voice_  is familiar, too. Kevin doesn’t get much time to process it, because there’s a confused shuffle at the other end of his row and a muted chorus of titters as one student gathers her things and marches to the door. She saves face with a quick smirk and salute as she heads out to wherever she’s supposed to be instead.

When Kevin looks back at Novak, the man is smiling. It scrunches his face up and shows off a wide expanse of white teeth.

Everything slams into place and Kevin’s mind locks up.

Oh. 

Oh  _fuck_.

That’s  _Cas_.

Holy fucking  _shit_ , that’s  _Cas_  and he’s  _right there_  and Kevin can’t spare a brain signal to breathe.

Novak is talking again, probably giving an overview of what they’ll be covering, but auditory processing is something Kevin isn’t capable of at the moment. His gaze is tethered to Novak’s hands and the way his mouth shapes words. It’s all so normal, nothing worth fixating on, and for some reason, that’s  _terrifying_. 

Playing on stuttered loop in Kevin’s head are entirely different scenes. Those hands wrapped in a tight grip around an ankle. Those fingers skittering wickedly along a bared torso. That mouth stretched wide in helpless laughter. That body taut and arching, with far fewer clothes–

A loud slap startles Kevin bolt upright. The student sitting in front of him bends low to pick up the notebook that fell to the floor. Novak’s attention has been drawn to the sound, and this time Kevin  _purposely_  stops breathing.  _If you don’t move, he can’t see you._

The professor’s –  _Cas_ ’ – eyes flicker up to him briefly before sweeping away as he resumes his intro. Kevin feels like he escaped the notice of the Jurassic Park velociraptors in the kitchen.

The ninety minutes of class simultaneously takes three eternities and is over in a blink. Maybe because Kevin only actually blinked once; he can’t be sure. He has no idea what was talked about or if there are any reading assignments for the next class.

The  _next class_. Jesus Christ. Kevin has to put himself through this twice a week for the entire semester. Maybe he should drop the class. No,  _no_ , he can’t drop this class, not without good reason. And it would be hopeless trying to pay attention to whatever he filled the timeslot with. Because  _Cas_ , of Cas, Dean & Sam tickling video fucking  _nirvana_ , is  _real_  and a goddamn  _professor_  at Kevin’s school. Shit, that has to mean he lives nearby.  _Shit_ , that means  _Dean and Sam_  live nearby. _Shitshitshit_. 

How the  _hell_  is he going to survive this semester?


	2. Chapter 2

It’s three weeks into the semester, and Cas is starting to get a feel for his students. There are several who clearly aren’t morning people, more who constantly look like they’ve pulled all-nighters (and it’s been a while since Cas was in classes himself, but he’s fairly certain it’s too early in the semester for that to be necessary yet), the same handful who ask questions consistently, and that one guy toward the front left who looks like a deer in headlights.

Cas assumes he’s a freshman, but they usually all lose that terrified look by halfway through the fall term. This kid appears fine until he notices Cas walk into the room. Not like Cas has stood a distance from the door before class (because this guy’s always early) and watched him out of curiosity or anything. He seems totally normal, interacting with his fellow students and his technology, until Cas arrives. Then he seems to lose all focus and looks vaguely afraid for his life for the entire duration of the lecture.

It’s not like the material is that difficult. It covers a lot, but Cas makes sure to break things down into manageable pieces. The kid did fine on the first quiz, even explaining more than necessary on the one short-answer question and showing he was absorbing the information. So Cas is sort of at a loss for what’s got him so freaked out.

This morning, their coffee machine at the house had inexplicably given up the ghost, so Cas finds himself standing in a line full of students at the coffee shop on the lower floor of the building where his class is held. He realizes after two rounds of shuffle-stepping forward that the person in front of him is Deer In Headlights Guy, who, for now, appears relaxed. Cas is pretty sure he remembers the right name from handing back the quizzes.

“Hello, Kevin,” he greets.

—

Kevin can feel his eyes go wide before he even manages to whip his head around. And then he looks  _up_ , because Professor Novak is  _right behind him_  at that too-close-for-normal-conversation-but-acceptable-line-standing distance and oh God, taller than he thought. His mouth opens for a second and a half before any sound actually comes out.

“H-hi, Cas.” And  _oh God_  he just called him  _Cas_  instead of Professor. Has Cas ever even told the students his first name? Not like it’s a secret but surely it would just be presented as  _Castiel_ , not a friendly nickname, and it’s not like Kevin should really know that Castiel is his actual name except that Sam had said it once in one of their videos in a sort of teasing scolding way and now that particular sound is playing on repeat in Kevin’s head and–

Professor Novak is looking at him a little oddly, with his brows flinching inward. His focus darts between Kevin’s eyes before he blinks and looks up at the menu board hanging behind the counter.

“Um. What flavor do you recommend? I don’t come here too often, but you seem familiar with their offerings.”

Right. Coffee. Even after stocking his apartment with breakfast-appropriate foods, Kevin still finds himself, more often than not, stopping here in the mornings. He’s probably had a cup in front of him for every one of Novak’s classes. And each time, it’s only half-drunk and cold by the time class ends.

“Their, their, uh, hazelnut’s pretty good. Not so much the vanilla. But you don’t really seem like the vanilla type…”  _Fuck!_

One side of Novak’s mouth twitches upward, but then he rolls his lips and straightens them out. “I’ll try the hazelnut then. Thank you.”

Kevin nods, or at least he thinks he does, before facing the counter again. The forty-five seconds he has to wait until it’s his turn to order feels oppressive and awkward beyond anything he’s ever experienced before. He was going to try something new today but he defaults to his regular order instead, then stands off to the side and pulls out his phone. He switches aimlessly between apps, trying to look busy so he can ignore the low notes of Novak’s voice as he orders his own drink. Thank God that Kevin’s comes to the counter pretty quickly. He snatches it and tries not to just flat-out run from the shop.

—

It’s difficult to concentrate. Cas is glad he’s taught this course before and can pretty much guarantee that whatever comes out of his mouth is accurate, because his mind is spinning. A flustered student isn’t anything new, really, and normally Cas finds it silly and maybe a bit charming. Nothing worth taking seriously.

But right now, Kevin has him taking it seriously. Cas has long gotten past that sense of paranoia that someone will Figure It Out based on something completely benign and unrelated. He and Sam and Dean had known it was a calculated risk to put themselves out there like they have. The success and (sometimes overly) friendly responses they’ve gotten to their videos have done an excellent job of dulling the fear, and Cas isn’t sure about the other two, but he’s been complacent about the whole thing for quite a while now. But what if that online life isn’t the sealed silo of anonymity that he thought it was?

He isn’t sure if Kevin has been staring helplessly at him as usual; Cas has been avoiding looking at that particular section of chairs. He’s pouring a good amount of effort into keeping the panic from rising higher in his chest. For now, it’s fluttering around in his stomach like a stone on wings.  _What if he knows?_  it hisses agitatedly.  _What if he’s seen you? What if he tells someone? Would the administration consider it a violation of the faculty code of conduct?_

The thought of losing his job isn’t as frightening as it could be. He teaches because he likes to, not because he needs the income. What’s petrifying, though, is  _what if it goes public? What would happen for Sam and for Dean?_  

And then, more generally,  _what if people online are able to track us down in real life?_

Cas ends up letting the students out early. He’s supposed to hold office hours after lunch, but can’t stomach the thought of simmering in these insecurities for the next several hours – let alone the possibility that Kevin might show up at his office. Not that he ever has before, but right now the idea of  _what if_  seems far larger than it normally does. He tapes a note to his door announcing that he isn’t feeling well and will hold longer hours on Thursday to make up for it.

When Cas gets home, it’s the middle of the day and the house is empty. He loads their video page and starts rewatching everything they’ve ever posted. He listens to their casual words, watches the background, searches for anything that could identify them. The rocky weight of panic had been shouldering up against his diaphragm at first, making his breath shallow, but the more he reviews, the weaker it seems to get. There are very few details one could gather about his or Dean’s or Sam’s lives. The likelihood of an obsessive stalker taking the form of a spooked college student seems less and less logical the longer he thinks about it. By the time Dean walks in the door, Cas has had enough time to process everything. He has to keep himself from laughing a little hysterically when he tells Dean that he understands now why some video stars wear masks.

Sam, predictably in-tune with the legal considerations, doesn’t take it very well. More accurately, he freaks out, especially when Cas isn’t confident about whether or not Kevin is a minor. (It would be unusual, but there are students who graduate high school early enough to be under 18 in college, and the guy does look kind of young.) It takes the entire evening to talk Sam down from two opposite but equally drastic cliffs: dropping everything and moving to Wyoming, or hunting Kevin down and interrogating him about what exactly he knows or who he’s thinking about telling.

They do agree to hold off on making any more videos until they all feel better about it. Cas will try to feel things out with Kevin, determine if there’s any risk – though Cas can’t imagine the skittish student to be anything but harmless. Thursday will be interesting.


	3. Chapter 3

Kevin is in Hell.

That’s the only explanation. He said one too many swear words, slipped on the icy curb on the way to class, and fell into traffic where he was hit by a bus. And now he has to sit through this torture.

As if it wasn’t bad enough that he and Professor Novak had arrived at the classroom door simultaneously. That Novak had greeted him and  _smiled_. That as Kevin had settled in to his usual seat, Novak had leaned back against the desk in that casual way he does and started drumming his immorally slender fingers against the wood.

Then  _he_  had walked in.

Kevin couldn’t quite process it at first. It was that nebulous sense of familiarity again, combined with the striking impression of  _holy shit, that guy’s huge_.

Then,  _Jesus Christ, that’s Sam_.

This is. It’s just. Fuck.

Sam’s brought Cas his coffee, in the travel mug that’s been omnipresent on Novak’s desk during all his lectures. Apparently he forgot it this morning. And now _Sam_  and  _Cas_  are standing  _together_  in  _real life_  twenty feet in front of Kevin, talking in low tones punctuated with chuckles, and this is cruel and unusual and astronomically unfair.

What’s worse is that Sam is kind of stupidly attractive, even moreso in person than on camera. His hair looks effortlessly sleek, and over his shirt and tie he’s got a goddamned sweatervest under his tailored jacket. It does  _not_  help that Kevin knows exactly what he’s got going on under all those layers, either. Kevin puts his hands over his face and groans.

When he parts his fingers, Cas is eyeing him. Shit, did he make that noise out loud? Kevin quickly drops his hands and doubles over to dig aimlessly in his bag on the floor, willing his face to cool down from the blood pumping double-time around his cheeks and ears. He takes a steadying breath before sitting upright again.

Sam’s eyeing him, too.

Kevin gives up. He crosses his arms over the little platform desk attached to his chair and drops his forehead onto them. He thinks he hears Sam leave amongst the shuffle of settling students.

He refuses to lift his head as class starts. He can listen just fine without having to watch how Professor Novak gesticulates his way through the lecture. Kevin finds it’s actually easier to pay attention this way, without the distraction of how Novak’s hands move or eyes light up. The subject is family structures, and it’s all fine until Novak starts talking about parental relationships and universal ways in which humans across the globe bond with their children. Kevin snaps his head up in alarm.  _Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t you dare say it_.

“…Thought to be one of the more primal bonding exercises for children, is _tickling_. The laughter response encourages play, and it’s thought that ticklish spots teach us to protect the areas more prone to mortal injury.”

Professor Novak even waves his fingers around and grins as he says it.

Yep. Kevin is absolutely, positively, unquestionably in Hell.

—

“Oh my God,” Sam laughs when Cas closes the door to his office. “You’ve got to be kidding me.  _That’s_  the guy you were talking about?”

Cas rolls his eyes and pushes Sam’s heels off the corner of his desk. “Just because I let you hang out in here doesn’t mean you can put your giant feet all over everything. And yes.”

“I thought he was going to be, like, a total creeper.” Sam stands to relinquish Cas’ desk chair. “But he couldn’t even  _look_  at you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone blush so hard so fast.”

“So you’re satisfied that he’s harmless, then?”

“For the most part.” Sam catches Cas around the waist when he moves to take over the seat behind the desk. He pulls him in for a kiss. “Keep an eye out, just to be safe. And  _don’t_  mess with him too much, okay?”

“Ah, you ruin all my fun,” Cas pouts. “Fine, I’ll only mess with him a  _little_.”


	4. Chapter 4

Whatever awkwardness Kevin thought there  _had_  to be between himself and Professor Novak after that last class/encounter/epitome of embarrassment, it seems to have completely dissolved. Or never existed in the first place… at least on Novak’s side. He’s looked at Kevin more often during this lecture than he has the entirety of the term so far. And he keeps smiling. And  _doing_   _things_  with his hands.

Kevin’s insides are a roiling anthill of anxiety, frustration, and turbulent thrills. Novak can be animated on a normal day, getting passionate about a topic and pacing a short length of carpet along the front of the lecture hall. But today, he’s got an intense focus that makes his eyes seem brighter. He strides from one side of the room to the other, gesticulating as he goes, his laser-like gaze darting amongst the students and, unnervingly often, focusing on Kevin. It makes Kevin’s stomach clench every time. He’s not sure if he wants to laugh or puke.

The lecture is continuing from the last class, about the historical significance of bloodlines and the relationships formed between non-related people. Novak’s been waxing poetic, in that weirdly analytical way that he does, about different sorts of personal bonds, backtracking over himself every once in a while to explain something more completely or to review a prior point. It’s all fine – relatively speaking – until he’s suddenly zeroed in on Kevin again.

“And as we previously discussed, the bonds between children, or parent and child, are commonly strengthened via…” Novak does this sort of half-bow and hand flourish like he’s asking Kevin to dance, and Kevin goes cold with the realization that he’s expected to finish the sentence.

“Uh,” he says, frozen in his seat.

Novak cocks his head. “We mentioned it last session.” He ripples the fingers of his extended hand.

Kevin feels his face heating and can’t do a thing to stop it. Novak’s gaze is bright and sharp and a little amused, and Kevin finds looking away to be impossible.  _I can’t say it,_  his brain stutters.  _I can’t, I can’t_.

“Uh,” he says again.

Firm grips suddenly appear around his biceps. Kevin whips his head around. Sitting behind him, holding his arms and grinning, are Sam and Dean.  _What the fuck_.

“Are you  _sure_  you don’t know?” Sam says smoothly, arching a brow. “Thought you were an expert.”

“Not as expert as us,” Dean counters with a predatory smirk.

Chest heaving with barely-contained panic, Kevin whirls back to look at Professor Novak, and his lungs just about collapse when Novak’s face is  _right there_. He’s standing in the row of seats just in front of Kevin, and he’s got an absolutely unholy twist to his lips as he leans in, supporting himself with corded forearms over the seat backs.

“Now,  _Kevin_ ,” he says patronisingly. “I  _know_  you know this.”

The last thing Kevin is prepared for – which seems pretty significant, considering the  _consummate insanity_  of the current situation – is a light tweak at the back of his neck. A high-pitched yelp flies from his throat. His head is already twisted to one side in a move he had no conscious part in making, and he finds Sam grinning smugly behind his shoulder.

“Think he needs a hint.”

Kevin sucks in a breath to say– say  _something_ , but there’s an abrupt heave of motion from Novak and suddenly Kevin’s sides are exploding with sensation. He’s fairly sure he  _screams_. Then everything is just  _stop stop stop shit no no no no no_ because Novak is  _tickling the bejeezus_  out of his sides. He can’t snap his arms in to protect himself because of the iron fingers wrapped around each of them, and holy shit, Novak isn’t pulling any punches. His attack is fast and ruthless, and Kevin’s doubling over in cackling laughter. He can barely find time to inhale; it’s torture and it’s unbelievable and it tickles  _so bad_  and it’s bubbling up some serious butterflies from the pit of his stomach and–

“ _Kevin_.”

Novak is still right in his face, and Kevin flails backward with a wide-eyed gasp. His wrist collides painfully with something hard, and a smattering of books rains down past his arm to thump to the floor.

Novak startles and rocks back on his heels, one hand held out in a non-threatening gesture. The backdrop of the library slowly comes into focus around him.

“I’m sorry, you just… I saw you’d fallen asleep here, and it didn’t look very comfortable. You also appeared to be having a bad dream, possibly.” One side of his mouth quirks up. “I hope it wasn’t about the exam next week.”

Kevin takes another pull of oxygen, blinks a few times. Something in his bag behind his back is digging harshly into his shoulder blade, and he slowly straightens up. The disorientation fades into alarming reality. He’s crumpled (snuggled?) against one of the library stacks with a wicked cramp in his neck and Professor Novak crouching over him. He’d been dreaming about– about–  _oh God_. Had he been moving? Making noise?  _Saying_  anything?

But Novak doesn’t look weirded out. Just nods once and pushes his hands down on his knees to lever himself standing.

“Naps are probably more effective when taken in your dorm,” he says wryly. “I suggest you try that next time.”

Kevin nods dumbly and watches him walk away.


	5. Chapter 5

“Nice bowtie, Professor!” a student calls out while the lecture hall shuffles slowly into order.

Kevin watches Novak subconsciously lift a hand toward his collar. The bowtie is a muted red, and coupled with the brown tweed jacket he’s wearing, Kevin can’t help but think that maybe the professor is trying to channel a little extra other-worldly charisma today. The moment he has the thought, he wants to punch himself in the face. Kevin’s finally gotten to the point where he can sit through class and not be viciously assaulted by butterflies every time he looks up from his notes. Nevermind that it’s taken until midterms. If he lets himself believe that Novak is a Doctor Who nerd, too, he’s going to tumble back into the abyss of being uncontrollably infatuated.

Though, it would explain a lot about Novak’s enthusiasm for anthropological history if he were actually a thousand-plus-year-old being who could travel through time.

Novak’s mouth crooks up into a half-smile. “Thank you,” he says. “It just felt… appropriate, for today.”

He doesn’t offer any further explanation for his wardrobe choices, and Kevin finds himself disappointed. But soon, Novak is clapping his hands sharply to settle everyone and signal the start of the day’s lecture, and Kevin busies himself with the notes he’ll need for the midterm in a couple days.

When class wraps up, Kevin feels the buzz of a text message in his pocket as he tucks his notebook away. He digs out his phone, then squishes his messenger bag close to himself while a few other students squeeze past his seat to exit the row. One of his housemates finished up midterms early and is heading home that afternoon. Kevin stays in his seat to pass a few messages back and forth. Their other housemate will be gone by Friday morning, and Kevin won’t be leaving until the weekend, so he promises to be the one to clean out the fridge before he goes.

Kevin stands and swings his bag onto his shoulder. He follows the last stragglers out of the emptied room, still thumbing around on the phone. Instinctively, he slows at the doorway when his peripheral vision picks up a small cluster of people blocking the hall. When they don’t clear the way after a few seconds, he stops and looks up.

It’s not a cluster. Just two.

Professor Novak is talking to someone with a broad, solid back who’s standing much too close to be another faculty member. Their exchange is in low tones that Kevin can’t quite make out, but even if he could hear, he’d be too distracted to listen.

Novak has his lower lip pressed softly between his teeth, which is… wow. He’s looking up at his conversation partner - _up_ , and he’s already fairly tall on his own - with his chin tipped back just enough to subtly present his throat. His lashes are lowered in what seems to be part coyness, part challenging squint. There’s a tinge of warmth in his cheeks. The other man, whoever he is, is playing at the corner of Novak’s tweed lapel with strong-looking fingers that slide up to trace the edge of the red bowtie.

Kevin has the distinct sense that he’s walked into something that belongs at the threshold of a hotel room late at night, rather than in the middle of a public university hallway on a Tuesday morning.

Just as the wandering hand closes into a fist on Novak’s lapel to tug him closer, the professor’s eyes dart over and land on Kevin. The other man notices, pauses, and looks over his shoulder.

A strong brow. Bright eyes. Welcoming lips that part into a high-wattage smile. _Dean_.

 _Fuck fuck fuck_.

“Hey,” Dean says in greeting, and his voice is rough and deep and warm, and carries the muted hint of a laugh that brings all sorts of memories to the surface that _are not appropriate right now_.

“Everything okay?” he continues, eyebrows pinching just slightly.

Kevin doesn’t so much as twitch. He’s still got his phone in his hands, thumbs motionless now, and his shoes have grown roots deep into the floor.

Dean squints a little, then seems to decide he’ll be fine. He turns back to Novak and murmurs something unintelligible in notes that sound vaguely suggestive. When he moves to leave, his hand lingers on the tweed for a beat. He throws a wink at Kevin before striding off down the hall.

Kevin doesn’t realize he’s watching the retreat intently until Novak clears his throat a bit. The professor straightens himself, not unlike a bird settling its feathers, and briefly eyes Kevin with a glint of - is that amusement? - before heading off in the opposite direction.

It leaves Kevin standing there like a shell-shocked idiot until his phone buzzes again and scares the shit out of him.

—

The fridge is clean, his housemates are all gone, and Kevin tries to convince himself that this is a terrible, terrible idea.

He thinks he believes himself, but that’s still not quelling the urge.

The light of his computer screen seems blue alongside the dim glow of the desk lamp. He’s leaving for spring break in the morning – can’t it wait until he’s at least far, far away from campus and wherever Novak lives with his stupidly hot partners? Class only just ended with the midterm exam yesterday. And he’s abstained all semester so far. Waiting another two months until Novak’s course is over would be a better call.

Nope. He definitely can’t wait.

His heart pounds as he loads up Cas, Dean, & Sam’s video channel. There’s bound to be all kinds of updates since he last checked in. Is it going to be different now that Kevin has seen all of them in the flesh? Will it be too weird? What if–

The latest video at the top of the feed is dated two days ago.

He clicks it before he can chicken out. Or, before he can come to his senses. Whatever.

An empty chair sits in the middle of the frame. There’s a shuffle, then Dean walks into view and sits down. He’s in a simple black tee and jeans, and when Kevin tries to think back earlier in the week, his memory is a muddled mess of nothing but bright smiling teeth and low, teasing tones and sure fingers that traced and tugged. Had Dean had been in black then? Maybe he’d been wearing a jacket. Or had it been faded plaid? Not like it matters; this video could have been filmed days, or weeks, or even months before posting.

Then, Cas enters from the other side and slides onto Dean’s lap, facing the camera with his back against the other man’s chest. He’s in a brown tweed blazer and a red bowtie.

 _Christ_.

Kevin almost closes the window immediately. This _had_ been filmed that day. Within hours of Kevin watching Novak pace the lecture hall, animatedly reviewing the course material and only going off on one tangent about the benefits of local honey for seasonal allergies, he’d left the university and done _this_. With Dean. Who had come to see him beforehand. Who had winked at Kevin as he left. _Jesus_.

Dean’s saying something muffled. Kevin raises the volume and scrubs the timeline back a few seconds.

“Been waiting for this all day, haven’t you.” Dean’s voice comes out the small laptop speakers, the inviting timbre cutting through the soft hiss of background noise. His hand snakes up Cas’ chest and fingers at the bowtie. “You even tied yourself up with a bow for me.”

Cas smiles and tips his head back next to Dean’s. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist. _Geronimo_ ,” he purrs.

Fuck, he _does_ know Doctor Who. And– and that way Dean had touched his tie in the hall that day, with his quiet murmurs– that had totally been some kind of tickle-session foreplay. In public. Right in front of Kevin’s eyes.

And now he’s watching the result unfold.

Dean’s hands slide down to Cas’ thighs, and Cas tenses up at the teasing crawl of fingers along his trouser-clad legs. With Dean mostly hidden behind his body on the chair, it almost looks like he’s being caressed by phantom hands. They pinch gently at his knees and spider up toward his hips. Cas’ entire face scrunches with giggles. His elbows squeeze tight to his sides with fists balled, and one knee hitches upward, then the other as he squirms on Dean’s lap.

It’s fucking adorable. And dammit, now Kevin has to reconcile fucking-adorable Cas with sharp Professor Novak who gave him an A- on his last paper and made him both a little mad and eager to try harder.

This had indeed been a terrible idea. Kevin doesn’t stop the video.

Dean’s fingers work Cas over as they divest him of his blazer. It’s unexpectedly stirring to watch Cas pant for breath while disembodied hands patiently undo his button-down, one by one until they reach the bottom. The last button is left fastened. Kevin thinks it was missed by accident, until Dean urges Cas up for a moment. He slips out from under Cas and steps back behind the chair while Cas resettles himself, then picks up a set of cuffs from the floor out of frame. Cas’ wrists get linked together, lifted up behind his neck and attached to the chair back. Dean grabs the still-buttoned bottom of his shirt and pulls it up and behind his head so it stays tautly out of the way. The result is a bare-chested, elbows-splayed Cas with a lone bowtie around his neck like a goddamn Chippendale dancer.

Dean’s too tall for the shot now, standing behind the chair, but it’s easy to imagine his smirk as his arms come down over Cas’ to keep them spread wide. He flicks his fingers into the bare hollows of Cas’ underarms.

Kevin can’t help but mentally insert himself in the same position. God, his armpits are _so bad_ , it would be unbearable even with not being tied down anywhere else. Dean’s fingertips spider and tickle in devastatingly delicate circles, and Kevin squirms nearly as much as Cas does while the sound of laughter pulses out of the speakers.

“ _Hey, anyone home_?”

“Shit!” Kevin startles badly and nearly tips his chair over. He slams at the keyboard to pause the video. His fumbling fingers manage to hide the browser window just before Alfie pokes his head around the doorway.

“The door was unlocked. I saw the lights on and thought I’d come ask if you wanted in on a round of D&D. You leaving tomorrow?”

“Uh, y-yeah,” Kevin stammers. His heart thuds wildly over the close call. He’s pretty sure his hands would shake if he pried them off the armrests. “I mean, leaving tomorrow, yeah. I… was just going to head to bed, though.”

“Okay,” Alfie says brightly. He bobs his head. “See you after break, then.”

Kevin manages a smile and nod.

He doesn’t move until the front door clicks shut. Then he leaps up to throw the deadbolt and check that all the curtains in the living room are closed. It’s stupidly paranoid, but he makes a round through the shared house, ensuring that everyone else has truly left and nobody will come snooping.

Satisfied but still shaken, he grabs a glass of water before returning to his room. He gulps it down leaning against the kitchen counter for support. He’s an idiot. Why did _he_ , of all people, get hooked on Cas-Dean-and-Sam, and then have to see _all of them_ in person, and suffer through the worst possible case of Sexy Professor _ever_ , and then voluntarily subject himself to making it all so much more complicated by getting worked up by their videos while still having to face said professor for the entire remaining semester? _Stupid_!

He stays there for a while, just breathing and contemplating his life choices.

When he gets back to his desk, he sits and stares blankly at the screen for a moment. There’s still a soft fluttering somewhere low in his chest. Tentatively, he stretches his arms up and back, grasping the top of the chair behind his shoulders. He spreads his elbows out to the sides. With his eyes closed, he can imagine fingers hovering just beyond the layer of his shirtsleeves. It feels just as vulnerable as he thought it would. When he shifts just a little, the fabric brushes unexpectedly, and he jolts down with a small gasp.

God, what he wouldn’t give for someone to keep him there and tickle him to delirium.

He’s hopeless.

He brings the window back up on the screen and clicks _play_.


End file.
